


Echoes Walking

by Envious_Yet (parkbom)



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Auld Acquaintances, F/M, Gen, Tragedy, major character deaths, minor language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:21:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkbom/pseuds/Envious_Yet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The YJ mentors spend some time with their dead partners. Written for the yj_anon_meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I'm a horrible person. This is also posted on FF.net. I don't own Young Justice and this was written purely for non-profit purposes. I apologize in advance for any mistakes. 
> 
> SPOILERS FOR AULD ACQUAINTANCE AND FOR WHO THE MOLE IS.
> 
> Note: edited and updated on 07/11/2017, just some minor grammatical stuff.

**Echoes Walking**

_‘I don’t want to be without it, I just want to feel alive, and get to see your face again.’ - Echo, Jason Walker_

_  
_

**_J’onn and M’gann_ **

It is not something he can imagine, not something he can pretend, or try to pry from another’s mind. But as he enters the kitchen in the cave, the last place she _was_ , he cannot bring himself to care. This may be fake, but it is all he has left. He needs this—this closure, this solace. It’s the only way he can survive for another 20, 40, 50, 100 _years._

M’gann stands in the kitchen, lighting just bright enough to give her a healthy [green] glow, to highlight her freckles, to lengthen the shadow of bangs across her face. To make her hair shine, orange-tinged, off of the pots. She looks at him, all big brown eyes and curling pinkish lips.

“Uncle!” She exclaims happily, immediately floating forward for a hug and connecting their minds as one. The emptiness that J’onn constantly feels, the echoing walls of his own thoughts and no one else’s, is soothed. Her voice, her mind, her soul fills in some of the spaces where part of him is missing. J’onn embraces her in return, happily.

“M’gann, how are you?” He asks, allowing her to guide him to the table where they sit together. She clutches his hand for a little, then releases it. He has the sudden urge to reach for hers again.

“Oh, I’m very good, Uncle J’onn,” she assures him, still smiling sincerely, “everything here is… very fun.” J’onn smiles, a little sadly, although she does not really notice, too busy looking him over for injuries, as she always does, just in case.

“That is good,” he says, forcing his voice to sound pleased. “And Superboy?” He only asks this because he knows that she cares about the clone very deeply, that they are together. That they are _soul mates_.

M’gann beams at him, mind lighting with the thought of her boyfriend, “He’s very good as well! Yesterday Wally took him shopping for a couple new shirts,” she breaks off, giggling at the thought of the amount of shirts that Superboy goes through, “and, I think, a present for me!” She grins and points to her neck, where a lovely diamond necklace rests, modest, yet elegant.

“It’s beautiful," he tells her, smiling kindly. He wishes he could speak in her mind, but it is enough to simply feel her resting there, comfortable and warm.

His niece, his precious piece of a world he once knew, fingers it thoughtfully.

“It is, isn’t it?” She sighs. “I was worried for a while, I thought maybe Wally would be… bitter or mad, but he took it pretty well, and I’m pretty sure he even helped Conner pick this out!”

He’s so glad she has friends, friends that she love[s][d], who are willing to deal with all of her secrets, with all of her miscommunications, who love her despite her flaws.

“That is good."

He pauses for a moment, drinking her in, then says, “You know, M’gann, I am very… proud of you.”

Her cheeks turn orange, but her eyes gleam. She is absolutely exquisite.

“Uncle,” she responds, tearing up a bit, “ _thank_ you. For bringing me here to Earth, even though I caused trouble for you. For letting me be on the team. For everything.” She sniffles and leans forward, arms already outstretched.

J’onn, with little thought, returns the embrace, pulling her close. He breathes in the scent of her hair, wafting off strawberry shampoo even though she technically doesn’t need to use it, and gently runs his hands in soothing circles on her back, feeling mostly smooth skin covered by fake clothing. She is soft and wonderful, and her mind fills his with butterflies and flowers and genuine compassion.

“Of course, M’gann. I would do… _anything_ for you. You need only ask.” M’gann sniffles again, and he can feel a few tears soak his shoulder, where her face is buried. Then she pulls back, and he lets go of her reluctantly, wishing that he could, for one _more_ minute [forever], hug her.

The timer on the over beeps, loudly, and M’gann starts, then giggles.

“Ooh, the cookies are ready, Uncle J’onn!” She rushes to the oven and opens it up, floating out a batch of perfectly baked chocolate chip cookies.

She sets them down on the table before him and pours two glasses of milk.

J’onn has always preferred Oreos, but right now, these are perfect.

“Wally and Artemis told me that milk is _always_ required when eating cookies, and Robin agreed, so it must be true.” She tells him earnestly. J’onn nods, Barry has often said this as well.

They reach for a cookie together and the walls start to melt.

She dunks hers into the milk, eyes wide and curious, and the kitchen disappears.

He takes a bite of his— _warm, gooey, soft_ —and the floor fades.

She smiles; milk staining the top of her lip, and the table vanishes.

J’onn smiles back, but she is already gone.

 

**_Artemis and Green Arrow_ **

He never wanted this for her, never wanted it to end like this, because she was a _good kid_ who deserves—deserved—something better. He could tell that she was going to grow up into a wonderful hero, a lifesaver, someone who cared deeply all the time. But that, that future, is all gone now. He can’t even look her in the eye.

They are on patrol, and her knuckles are white from how tightly they grip her bow. She’s angry, though not at him. Ollie is glad, this time around, that it’s not at him. If only he had _listened_ maybe this all could have been avoided.

“Ugh,” she grunts, swinging her bow around and hitting one thug in the face with a blunt-tipped arrow. “Thank god for stupid douchebags. Otherwise I’d need major anger management.”

He doesn’t agree with that—at the moment, he thinks she’s perfect, the way her hair glows angelically in the moonlight. She looks like her namesake, from the strong, fierce stance of her body, sharp with muscle, to the glittering shards of determination tinged with anger in her eyes.

But he laughs, because he cannot mess this up. Not like last time.

“I doubt that,” he teases as he takes out another. “You aren’t nearly as bad as _he_ was—is.”

Apparently even an allusion to him is enough to make her anger flare, and she abandons the bow for a moment to simply kick one in the face. The last one, luckily. Oliver relaxes and gazes at her. She doesn’t notice, thank god, because he’d be bitched at if she did.

“I guess,” she sniffs, a tad haughty, but mostly pleased. He can tell by the curve of her lips.

“That was pretty awesome,” he compliments lightly, gesturing to the fallen thug. “You should do hand-to-hand more often. Dinah must be teaching you well.”

Her cheeks flush under her cowl, and Oliver’s heart stabs itself a little.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling now. “And yeah, Black Canary’s a really good teacher. Being on the team is… a lot less lame than I thought it was going to be.”

She _sounds_ reluctant, and maybe a tad grouchy, but he knows how excited she was to be on the team—to be _part_ of something, something _good_. It makes him angry that she will not—cannot—be excited any longer.

“Well that’s good. Are you getting along with your teammates, then?” He questions because he has to know for sure, know that she was truly happy.

Artemis’ eyes widen for a second, and she looks away. “Well, yeah. M’gann’s a sweetheart, really. We, uh, went shopping a couple days ago. It was fun.”

Her admission makes his heartstrings tug, and his arms feel oddly heavy. They keep moving, climbing up onto the roofs to look for more possible crimes, but mostly he just watches her.

“And the others?” He _needs to be sure_.

Artemis doesn’t look at him, but there’s a delighted arch to her face, seen only in the [full] moonlight. “Yeah, we get along. Robin’s kind of a troll, but he’s fun, at the same time. Kaldur’s gorgeous, of course, and really sweet. He’s a great leader, even if he doesn’t know it—”

Ollie’s heart aches.

“—and Superboy, er, Conner, he’s getting really good at controlling his anger and stuff. Plus, _mm_ that boy!” She grins at him, and Oliver sees a bit of himself in that grin. He licks his lips nervously, sadly, but motions for her to continue.

“Zatanna is adapting. She’s really cool though, and I want to help her get over it—that thing with her father.” She narrows her eyes, looking glum and stubborn at the same time, and Ollie has _no idea how_ , but she’s _perfect_ in this moment, in this light.

“And Kid Flash?” He asks, gentle teasing in his voice. Artemis shakes her head exasperatedly, hair whipping around and glimmering in the moonlight.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, you know. He’s annoying and stuff. But,” she pauses, a small smile adorning her features, “I guess he’s not that bad, really. He can be funny, if only when he trips over stuff or _fails_ at flirting. And he can be nice, I suppose.”

Oliver’s bones feel like melting into the floor when pain resonates in his chest and spreads through his body. He blinks rapidly, unable to look away from her—this _warrior_ of a girl—so tough and _true_ and pure.

“All Flashes are annoying,” he tells her. “That’s a fact of life. But, I’m really glad you’re getting along with them. And, even if I’ve never said it, I _am_ really… _proud_ of you, Artemis. You’ve come a long way.”

Her eyes widen, and she _stares_ , a certain rosiness coloring her cheeks. Ollie swallows back the lump in his throat. It doesn’t really work.

She opens her mouth to say something back, but there’s a crash from a couple blocks away that echoes loudly, bouncing off of the wall behind him, and suddenly everything is _fading_ , until it’s just them on this roof top with white space all around. Oliver stares at Artemis desperately, but she doesn’t notice.

Her mouth moves, but no words come out.

The building melts, slowly, from the bottom down, and Ollie blinks and—

She’s gone.

 

**_Aquaman and Kaldur_ **

Unlike the other members of the Justice League, he hadn’t had the privilege of seeing his _student_ , _protégé_ , _son_ shortly before _it_ happened. In fact, the last time he had seen him was two weeks before. And here he was now, reliving the moment.

“My king,” Kaldur, ever polite, greets, bowing deeply, “what brings you to the surface?”

Arthur smiles a little. Kaldur has always been… charming. He appreciates that more, now.

“I wanted to visit you,” he says, nodding deeply at his protégé, “of course. How are things here?”

Kaldur looks pleased, underneath his usual calm exterior, and Arthur’s throat tightens. But he promised himself he wouldn’t break down, wouldn’t break character. This was about _closure_.

“Everything is wellk,” the _leader_ of this so esteemed team responds. “Our missions are harder now, but it is worth it. The team… is truly coming along. Zatanna is a wonderful addition.” Arthur smiles and nods.

“Ah yes, the young sorceress.” It’s hard to think about her, to think about _any_ of them, and especially hard to think about Kaldur. His Aqualad. His protector and the one he was supposed to protect in return. “And the others on the team are adapting as well?”

Kaldur always seems to brighten when discussions turn to his team, his friends, his _family_. Arthur is grateful because, while he had Garth and Tula, Kaldur had always been such a lonely child. It is nice to know that before… he _died_ , he found people worth dying with.

“Yes, very well,” his protégé responds, sounding incredibly proud. “Artemis and Zatanna work exceedingly well together in particular, although Robin and Zatanna seem to meld quite nicely also. Robin and Kid Flash work the best together naturally, though. Superboy enjoys working with Miss Martian and me. Artemis and Robin also have a certain draw to each other, being the two most human on our team.”

Arthur nods regally, and then sits down, motioning for Kaldur to as well. He stares intently at Kaldur’s face, trying to memorize the features. He has been planning to commemorate his most beloved student in the palace, after all, and he wants to get everything perfect.

He hesitates for a moment longer, but realizes that he has no more time to hesitate. He already did so much of that in the real world that right now he must act.

“Kaldur’ahm,” he starts, looking at the  _man_ sitting before him, “I want you to know that… I have been, and always will be, incredibly _proud_ of you. You are a marvelous warrior, an exceptional student, and a strong leader. That you have come so far in so little time while leading this team is remarkable, and all of Atlantis is honored to call you a hero.”

Kaldur looks absolutely astonished, and red dusts his cheeks in a way that Arthur has not seen since he was a young boy. It makes his heart burn cold, ice settling in with the knowledge that he will never get to see this again.

“My king,” his student says breathlessly, “I do not know what to say. That you would tell me this… _thank_ you. For taking me in. For raising me as one of your own, my king, it means the world to me.” Kaldur is nothing if not sincere, and Arthur feels an odd sting in his eyes that he pushes back.

“Of course, Kaldur, I would not have it any other way.” He places a hand on Kaldur’s knee and sucks in a breath, savoring the simple touch. It is, after all, the last time he lays a hand on the warmth that flows through Kaldur’s body.

It is an echo of a memory from every other time he has done this, giving his student inspirational speeches or encouragement of some kind, guiding him to maturity and stability and _integrity_. He remembers, of course, the young, thin, _adorable_ Kaldur that tried so hard all of the time, who befriended people with his pure courtesy and respected, above all, life in every form. He doesn’t have this, this wonderful boy, this honorable man, anymore. And it _hurts_.

“Mera and I have decided on a name,” he confesses. Kaldur immediately smiles.

“That is wonderful, my king. May I ask what it is?” The room is evaporating, but Arthur pretends not to notice.

He opens his mouth to reply, “Well,” he hesitates.

They sit in white space.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles, as do Kaldur’s. “I think we’re going to name him after _you_.”

But Kaldur never hears those words because—

_“My king.”_

He is no longer there [here].

 

**_Superboy, Red Tornado, Black Canary, and Superman_ **

Red Tornado does not dream, mainly because he cannot sleep. He recharges, yes, and when his battery dies or something he has a system shut down, but he never dreams. J’onn cannot connect to his mind because he is technology. He has no way to relive his memories with the youngsters who taught him to feel so _human_ , who gave him pants, who joked with him, who sometimes hacked his system, except to get his memory chip and look at them, over and over, every moment for as long as he wishes. And so he does. He watches Kid Flash [Wally] and Robin [Dick] play pranks and joke around, wave at him and eat things, and play video games and be very, very, _young_. He relives Miss Martian [M’gann] floating around the kitchen, smiling perpetually, getting excited over the silliest parts of human culture, and convincing [Artemis] to go shopping with her. He sees [Artemis] banter enthusiastically with [Wally] and train with [Kaldur] and laugh with [Zatanna] and do girly things with [M’gann]. He remembers Aqualad [Kaldur] giving inspirational speeches and calming his teammates down and watching the Little Mermaid on the television and learning how to ‘bro-fist’ with [Wally], [Dick], and [Conner].

And then there is Superboy [Conner], who he watches now, gazing intently at the static on the television, covered in milk or eggs or some other kitchen product. He sees him tackle [Wally] to the ground during a pillow fight and lift [Dick] on his shoulders to reach the light bulb when [M’gann] is out.

After watching this, Red Tornado exits his _hole in ceiling_ and goes into the living room where the couch sits, gathering dust, and the oven rests, empty, and all the chairs at the table are pushed in. He walks over to the remote and turns on the static. Then he sits down to watch and pretends that [if he could smell] he can smell cookies baking in the over. Pretends that he can hear [Wally] laughing and see [Artemis] rolling her eyes and feel [Dick] brush against him as if to program another memory into him and see [Kaldur] sitting with a small, wonderful smile and taste [Zatanna’s] magic in the air as she teases [Wally] with its existence. And pretends, as well, that [Conner] is next to him.

But they only echo sadly in his [mind].

/

Dinah wishes she could see them all, but she had to choose one. She knows that Superman wasn’t invited and she _wants_ to remember him. She was, in a way, the only mentor he ever had. Her cheeks are heavy with the weight of tears that have rolled down for nights now, as she lies in an empty bed because Oliver is patrolling the city obsessively, searching for _Roy_ and wishing Artemis was with him.

So she closes her eyes and dreams a little bit.

The last time she saw Conner, it had been in one of their weekly therapy sessions. Only Conner came weekly, the others either choosing to come only once a month, when they absolutely needed to, or (in Wally’s case) almost never.

He sits across from her, bulked-up form somehow very small in the chair, and Dinah smiles encouragingly, her eyes soft. She wonders if he can hear her heart pound.

“Conner,” she says soothingly. “Tell me about your week.”

He nods, not angry, never truly angry unless there is a threat, and speaks. She listens, because this is all she has left of him, now.

“I had a good week,” he announces, sounding extremely satisfied, “On Saturday, Wally took me to the mall.”

Dinah takes a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of his voice.

He continues, “We got some more shirts. For me, I mean, because for some reason they always end up ripped or something.”

He frowns, as if upset by this, and Dinah feels like laughing until she cries. Instead, she smiles again.

“And he said that he wasn’t mad or upset about M’gann and me dating. He said that M’gann’s a great girl and he wishes he could have her, but that obviously, we’re meant for each other. It was really nice.”

He is so _sure_ in this moment, as if it is a _fact_ that whatever Wally said and did was nice and there is no other way to interpret it. Maybe there isn’t, Dinah thinks.

“Then he offered to chip in to buy her a present with me, but only from me. For our anniversary, or something. We picked out a necklace that was really pretty, and when I gave it to her, M’gann cried.”

He hesitates and she bites her lip, “I was worried, at first, that she cried because she didn’t like it, but she said that they were tears of joy. I felt… happy.”

He looks at her, almost curiously, like an infant who has discovered a blooming flower and smelled it for the first time. Dinah sucks in another breath to compose herself.

“That’s wonderful, Conner,” she replies, achingly happy for him.

He nods, as if to say, _this is also a true fact_.

“Then on Monday I did well on my Biology test—Wally helped me study,” he admits, eyes lowering a tad bashfully, “and my math test—Robin helped me with that.”

The way he blushes is _so cute_ that Dinah has to blink away tears at the thought that she will never see that blush again, that she will never see him _discover_ something new and love it. That he will never study for another test.

“I saw the grades,” she says, beaming at him gently. “Very good, Conner.”

“On Wednesday we had that mission, and it went well. I don’t feel… inadequate anymore,” he confesses, “because my teammates had secrets too and they don’t hate me for not being just like… Superman.” Oh Conner, she thinks.

Out loud, she states, “You never have to be.”

“And,” Conner says, “I’m glad that M’gann and Artemis told us everything.”

There is [was] trust on the team. They are [were] doing so well. Dinah is so proud.

Then she asks, as she has every time after the first time, “Do you feel, Conner?” He looks her in the eye, and her heart stutters at the sight of determined blue orbs, filled with _emotions_.

“Yes.” He responds.

His answer echoes through her head every day, now.

“Good. I’m so proud.” She smiles at him, and, heartbreakingly, he grins back.

His smile is everything about him that is not angry—full of love for his friends and his girlfriend, curiosity for the world, and sentiments that flow through him. She wants to hug him.

But all too soon the room begins to wane into non-existence. Tears fill in her eyes, and she leans forward, reaching out for a hug. Dinah needs this now. He responds, surprised but not necessarily unwilling, and her breath catches.

When they embrace, she closes her eyes and _feels_ him fade from around her, in her arms, and then, she lets herself cry in empty white space.

He’s not coming back.

/

The only thing Clark wishes is that he could have told Superboy—no, _Conner_ —that he _was_ proud, that he _didn’t_ hate him, that… he was a _person_.

But it’s too late for that.

 

**_Zatanna and Dr. Fate/Zatara_ **

Dr. Fate knows that the universe needs him, he is sure of it, but right now all he can feel is Giovanni Zatara’s sorrow ringing in his veins, a physical pain. It is part of him because Zatara is a part of him. So here he is, with her once again. It is a memory that comes from a moment of weakness on Nabu’s part, but Nabu is glad he had it, now.

They are in her room at Mount Justice, and it is awkward, incredibly, _unbearably_ awkward. This time, though, he does not leave as soon as he can. Instead he sticks around, engraving her features in his mind, in Zatara’s mind, with his magic. Nabu remembers the feeling _her_ body gave him, the way they fit well (although not as well as Kent, never as well as Kent), how _powerful_ she truly was. She is lovely beyond belief, truly, and not only in her outer looks but also within her soul.

She also does not look _happy_ , necessarily, to see him.

“Dr. Fate,” she greets, caught half-way between hating him and loving him. “What are you doing here?”

Zatanna is, was, a beautiful being.

“I,” he starts, unsure of himself like never before, and stutters briefly. “Zatara wished to see you. I felt I should… grant his wish, for it would not do to have my vessel angry at me.”

Zatanna looks up at him through thick black lashes, all fierce baby blues and soft midnight curls resting on her shoulders. She looks defiant, but uncertain, as though she wants to believe him, but knows she cannot. He wants to comfort her, somehow, to coddle her, to _protect_ her.

“I see,” she says quietly, politely. “Please, sit.” She motions to the only chair in her room, and sits on the bed.

He sits as well, if only to keep himself from running. Zatara, inside of his mind, is silent and still, drinking in his daughter as only a father can.

Nabu feels a twinge, in his chest, in his heart, a phantom pain that belongs, not to him, but to the other soul trapped inside his head.

“Does he want to talk to me?” She asks, steady in a way only strong, young ones can be.

Nabu wants to say, “ _Always_ ,” but he cannot, just like he couldn’t the first time around. It is nice just to hear her speak. It brings his body the sort of peace sleep never can and his mind the sort of quiet that it has never had before.

“Of course,” he responds instead. “But it is not that simple.”

She nods, as if understanding, but a crestfallen look spreads in her eyes. Something foreign and utterly _sad_ stains his insides.

“I can, if you want, talk _for_ him,” he offers. Her head jerks up, curls bouncing on her skin. Then she looks at the ground, instead of in his eyes. He pretends that doesn’t bother him, but _this time_ , it does.

“I would like that very much,” she finally answers. “Please, tell him first that I love him.”

Dr. Fate nods, even though Zatara can hear her, and awaits a response from his slightly reluctant vessel.

“He returns the sentiment,” he pauses, the words are not his to speak, not really, “and says _I love you as well, my darling_.” If Nabu could blush, he might be at the moment.

Zatanna’s eyes brighten a little and if he squints very hard, he can see beyond her skin and bones and into her soul. It’s stunning.

“Dr. Fate,” she says, “tell him I miss him.”

Dr. Fate nods once again, and Zatara, inside his mind lets out a shaky sigh.

“He misses you as well, Zatanna,” Nabu states softly, “and wishes you only the best on the team. He wonders how you are doing on it.”

Zatanna stares at him, almost somber, almost hateful, but mostly desperate. Her eyes meet his directly, and he can feel her travel through the human windows and into his mind, into his soul, to see her father again. It is wretchedly magnificent, what these humans will do for each other, _because_ of each other, and sometimes Nabu wants a part of that.

“The team is,” she starts, pausing once to look at her hands, “wonderful. They are all very good to me, especially Robin and Artemis.”

“What are they like?” Dr. Fate asks because Zatara wants to know—he wants to know everything he can about his daughter’s life.

“Robin is… funny, and sweet. He… understands, I think, most of all, and he helps me. Artemis is tough and a really good friend. She always knows what to do when I start to feel bad. M’gann, too, in her own way. She likes to cook—especially cookies, and they get better every day. Superboy, well, Conner, he can be angry or curious, or even just very _human_. He isn’t a, a clone. He is very… genuine, most of the time, but he’s afraid to let people down and he longs for Superman’s approval. I don’t think he really needs it. Kaldur is calm and patient and… responsible. He tries really hard, too, and it’s really cute. Wally, Kid Flash, is goofy and a total geek. He thinks that he messes up a lot, but he’s actually really smart. He likes to flirt, but keeps it on the down low most of the time, now. They all… try so hard, and do so much.” She explains it in a way that makes Dr. Fate wonder how humans can ever leave a home, can ever betray one another, because on principal they sound _so happy_ when they speak of each other.

But he knows better. Especially after what happened recently. Anyone can deceive, anyone can lie, and anyone can murder. Zatara, though, is peaceful now.

He looks her in the eye. “Zatara wants me to tell you that he is very proud. That he wants you to continue with this team and to improve your skills.”

Zatanna stares at him for a moment longer.

Then she cries, tears forming the corners of her eyes and plunging down her cheeks steadily. She does not make a sound, though, instead just studies him. The phantom pain returns.

 _“Give her a hug,”_ Zatara demands, and Dr. Fate relents.

This is the last time Zatara will ever feel his daughter’s arms around him. He leans forward and pulls her close, and Zatanna does not struggle. Instead she concedes and twines thin arms around him, too, and holds on.

The room bleeds white. Nabu and Zatara concentrate on Zatanna. She pulls back.

The bed is gone. The chair is gone.

She gives him a half smile, eyes red and puffy, but she is still exquisite.

Then she, too, bleeds into the white. Dr. Fate is left staring where she used to be.

He traps her words inside his mind and lets them echo throughout the night, just so Zatara can listen for as long as he wants.

 

**_Dick and Bruce_ **

It is not supposed to be this way. _It was not supposed to go that way_. There had been a plan—a legitimate, working plan—and it failed. He failed. Bruce… isn’t really sure what to do anymore. So he agrees to do the exercise because they’re _all_ suffering, and for once he needs some closure. He just needs to see Dick’s face again, to hear him speak, to watch him move.

The room comes into focus. It is the night before _it_ happens and the last time Bruce ever sees Dick, his little robin, alive. He soaks it in.

Looking up from where he’s perched on his bed, chatting on his computer with Wally, Dick smiles. Bruce, against his better judgment (because _it hurts so much_ ), smiles back.

“What are you doing?” He asks, striding further into Dick’s room and standing over him, looking at the computer screen.

“Chatting with Wally,” Dick answers, “and hacking Luthor Corps.” He grins wildly, all thirteen-year-old genius doing crazy smart things with his best friend. Bruce shakes his head, and even though his heart is throbbing, aching, _hurting_ in his chest, he grins back. Because Dick can make that happen.

“Well, don’t be _too_ mean,” he teases, ruffling his ward’s hair. He should’ve adopted him when he still had the chance. “ _Mr. Luthor_ is quite powerful himself.”

Dick snorts. He’s sitting on his stomach, feet kicked up, resting his head on one hand as he lazily hacks the Luthor systems and types back to Wally.

“Please, he was taunting Conner. I can’t just let that go!” Dick justifies, smirk toying with the corners of his lips.

Bruce laughs despite himself, through the twinges at his heartstrings and the paranoid ticking of his mind.

“Of course you can’t,” he agrees. “But what’s Wally got to do with it?”

The two will [would] often come up with horrible, silly pranks to play on their enemies, discretely of course. It is… was… amusing.

Dick gestures to his computer screen, where Wally has typed some scientific response to Dick’s question.

“We’re coming up with a formula for an acid that only burns through a meld of polyester and silk and is harmless to the skin. Apparently, most of Luthor’s clothes are made from that.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow and sits at the foot of the bed.

“Is that so? And why do you need an _acid_ for Lex Luthor’s clothing?” He asks, even though he already knows. He has to, if only to prolong the moment.

His robin, his boy, snickers mischievously, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Wayne. It’s a surprise. But trust me; it’s going to be a _great_ one.”

Bruce, not Batman, shakes his head again. He gives into the urge to ruffle Dick’s hair, which causes the boy to send him a curious look. Bruce breathes in, smelling the kiwi shampoo and conditioner that Wally got his _son_ addicted to, and the lavender soap that he knows Zatanna likes to use. Knows it because he knows the rest of his _children_ as well.

“If you say so,” he sighs. “I… wanted to talk to you about something, Dick.”

And Dick twists around, studying him with narrowed, almost suspicious eyes. Bruce reminds himself that he _isn’t good at this_ , but he has to do it. This is all he has left.

The memory of Dick’s body still echoes through his mind. It always will, he thinks.

“Alright,” Dick says huffily, sitting up and putting hands on his tiny hips. “What’s up with you? You _never_ want to talk, unless it’s about Robin stuff. Is this about Robin stuff?”

A stab of guilt pierces Bruce’s heart, but he doesn’t let it bother him. Best just to plow on. He smiles.

“Kind of,” he answers vaguely, ignoring the unimpressed glance he receives in turn. “But not really. I just…”

He trails off and stares at his ward, his wonderful son, the only person closer to him than Alfred, the only one who knows a side of him he never shows the world. Dick gazes back, all teenage awkwardness and Robin gracefulness at the same time.

“I want you to know,” he clears his throat, “that I am… very, incredibly proud of you, son.”

And it’s hard, because he’s not actually good at this, but at the same time, it’s easy because it’s _Dick_. His little robin blinks back at him, all blue eyes, and gangly legs, and mathematical genius, and silly prefix-drops, and whatever else makes Dick tick. Bruce swallows uncomfortably, a sorrowful resentment of some kind clawing up from his heart into his throat.

“Bruce,” Dick breathes (like he never got to in life), “I… I don’t even know what to say. I’m really proud, honored, really, to be _your partner_ , too.”

Bruce struggles with the urge to grab him by the shoulders, to shake him, to _beg him not to be so stupid_ , and instead just stares intently.

“More than that, Dick. I’m proud to call you my son.”

Dick swallows visibly, and then, in a rather feline way, leaps at him, strong, slender, small arms wrapping around Bruce’s neck and legs tangling with his own. Bruce returns the embrace just as fiercely, clinging to _all he has left_.

He swears he feels tears against his neck (not the suit neck, never the suit), but doesn’t comment on them, and instead breathes in Dick’s kiwi-lavender-burnt cookie-smoky scent and _feels_ his wiry little body relaxing in his arms. Not dead, alive; not broken, whole.

They release each other, and because words are no longer necessary, Bruce does the hardest thing he’s ever done and leaves the room. He walks out without looking back because _he knows_.

Dick is already gone.

 

**_Wally and Barry_ **

Barry knows, oh how he knows, that this is going to hurt. He knows that it’s not really _real_ that he can’t rely on this to save him, but he tries anyway. Because he has to. _This is all he has left_.

He opens the door.

“Hey, kid,” he greets, smiling at the sight of Wally chatting with Robin on the computer. “What’s up?”

Wally, his beautiful, wonderful, fantastic nephew turns to him with a grin.

“Not much,” he responds stretching like a cat, all long legs and slowly broadening shoulders, “just talking with Dick and stuff.”

Barry speeds over, looking at the screen with a fond smirk playing with his lips. Despite his cheerful face, his heart cracks every time he looks at Wally.

“Fun. Hacking Luthor Corps and discussing how to create an acid that melts clothes seems quite ambitious for a boy of your age and stature,” he jokes lightly. He pets Wally’s hair tenderly, trying to hide it behind a playful ruffle, but from the weird look on his nephew’s face, it doesn’t quite work.

Wally huffs and smacks his hand away, “Please, this is so far past me and Robs. We could do so much more with ourselves.”

Barry wonders if Batman is experiencing a similar situation, interrupting Dick while he chats with Wally online or if the Dark Knight had the privilege of seeing his protégé again, after this. Probably not.

“Sure you could, kid,” Barry says, grinning again. He doesn’t feel happy—mostly he just feels bittersweet, mournful, and like maybe he’s going to cry—but he has to do this. He has to be normal; he has to _pretend_ for a short while. “Want to go get some ice cream? We could go to your favorite place in Keystone!”

Wally looks up at him, green eyes brilliant and _electric_ , tugging on Barry’s heart with their familiarity. He gulps as he gazes at those freckles, that pert little nose, and the almost smug smirk that crosses his partner’s features. Wally reminds him, Barry thinks, a lot of Iris. And it’s weird because they’re not even blood related.

“Sounds great!” Wally exclaims happily, typing a brief goodbye to Dick before shutting his laptop off and standing up. “Let’s go!”

Barry’s lips quirk into an odd, half-heartbroken smile as they zoom out together, decked in their costumes.

Outside of the shop, they change into civilian clothes. They order their usual and sit down, Wally across from him in the booth, so close that their knees brush. His wonderful nephew licks at his ice cream cone, smudging vanilla on his nose. Barry doesn’t say anything because the sight of Wally with ice cream on his nose makes his insides burn.

Wally smiles at him, a peculiar light entering his eyes when he sees Barry staring at him attentively.

“Not that this isn’t great and all,” he says, still smiling in that way that makes his nose wrinkle a little and punches a dimple into one cheek, “but why’d you take me out?”

Barry leans forward on one elbow, lazily licking at his own ice cream but not really tasting it, far too distracted by his _safe_ , _alive_ , _breathing_ nephew.

He shrugs nonchalantly, as though it doesn’t really matter (even though it _does_ ), “I just felt like it. You know,” he waggles his eyebrows, earning an eye-roll from Wally, “I have to work pretty hard to be the _cool uncle_.”

Wally grins widely at this, smudge of white stark against the freckles on his nose, and reaches across to punch Barry in the shoulder. Oddly enough, he savors the feeling.

“Ha, you’re my _only_ uncle!” Wally laughs. “Uncle John and Uncle Hal don’t count, and Uncle Ollie _especially_ doesn’t count right now!”

Even the mention of Ollie, who was so close to _him_ , makes Barry’s very veins throb.

“Well, I suppose,” Barry relents. “But still. Don’t want to be _uncool_.”

Wally’s eyes soften. He’s almost done with his ice cream and Barry wishes he wasn’t.

“You could never be uncool,” Wally announces, finishing off the cone. “So don’t worry. You’ll always be my favorite.”

Barry feels tears gather somewhere in the back of his head, but refuses to let them pass, and instead just smiles, even as his heart splinters in two.

“And you’ll always be my favorite,” he responds, because it’s true. It will always be true. It makes his nephew’s face brighten, though, to hear it.

“So how’s the team?”

Wally beams at the mention of his friends.

“Oh the team is great! Zatanna’s been really good, even if her shtick is _magic_ ,” this time, Barry smirks at the mention, loving the irritated crinkle between Wally’s eyebrows at the word, “and Arty and I are getting along way better, which is nice. And, I mean, M’gann and Supey got together, but that’s not so bad. They’re pretty cute together.”

Barry just listens as Wally explains, complains, and dramatically reenacts all things that have to do with the team, even though it _hurts like hell_.

He wasn’t fast enough.

Finally, when he’s done with his cone, and just watching Wally say things, Barry interrupts, blurting out, “I’m really proud of you.”

He flushes a bit, but it’s worth it to see Wally’s own blush scatter across his cheeks, engulfing his freckles. He looks so startled, eyes very _green_ and wide.

Then he smiles. “I’m really proud of you too, Uncle Barry.”

And it’s so sincere and absolutely _silly_ that when Barry leans over the table to hug him _one last time_ , he doesn’t feel pain, or hurt, or aching, or burning. He feels complete, whole. But it’s only for a split second. (A split second is _so long_ in his world).

Wally wriggles back after, cheeks red. Barry doesn’t even notice when the ice cream parlor starts to dwindle.

He stretches an arm forward, smiling at his nephew, saying, “You have ice cream on your nose, kid.”

His fingers brush that nose, briefly, but then Wally is gone.

Barry’s hand falls.

 

**_The Team and Captain Marvel_ **

Billy hangs around Mount Justice because, sometimes, he swears he can see the other members, the old members, the _dead_ members floating around. Laughing. Playing. Watching TV. Anything. The Justice League didn’t invite him to the little memory session, not that he can blame them. They have a lot on their minds, nowadays.

He sits with Wolf’s head on his lap, but doesn’t touch the remote. Red Tornado does sometimes, and sits just right of where Superboy used to, but Billy can’t bring himself to.

He’s not even Captain Marvel right now. Just Billy.

He walks into Megan’s room, which is untouched—all of her things rest in the same place, the bed is made—but a fine layer of dust covers everything. It’s only been about a week. Billy stands in the middle and drinks it in.

Megan was so nice to him; even before she found out he was only ten. That was why he hugged her after the disturbing training session, that was why he missed her now.

Her room smells like cookies. Not even the burnt kind, just delicious, gooey chocolate chip cookies and milk.

It’s a typical girl’s room, probably copied from that TV show she loved so much, but there are certain hints that are just _so Megan_ he cannot ignore. Like the black and red super shield poster, the tiny gold star earrings that Artemis bought for her, the complete set of _Star Trek_ DVDs that Wally insisted she watch, the _Star Wars_ movies that Robin retaliated with, the magical trinket, a dewdrop topaz-colored pendant, that Zatanna gave her, and the petrified Star fish that Kaldur found. Billy wishes now that he had bought her a present before.

He walks across the carpet, running a hand over the pink comforter, and opens the closet door. She didn’t need to buy clothes but always bought something anyways when Artemis or Zatanna took her shopping, just because she could. They hang now, unmoved.

There’s a white dress—the one they would have put her in for the funeral had her body not been so terribly mangled (he would know, he’s the one who… walked in on them)—and white high-heels to match. She had bought it for the prom, which she never got to go to, and Conner had gotten a suit to match. Their first dance together.

There’s also a pretty blue skirt and a flowing purple top, some belts, a pair of combat boots that Artemis insisted she buy, a red Flash T-shirt she got to humor Wally, and a real Robin mask that she wore at their second, more private Halloween party together. Billy sighs and reaches out to touch the pretty white dress.

He misses her in all her sweet sincerity and her fierce protectiveness that arose whenever a teammate was in trouble. Some might assume, wrongly, that she was stupid, or ditzy. But she wasn’t. She was extremely attuned with emotions and always wanted to help people. She was almost like a big sister to him, if not a mother.

Billy leaves the room quickly, before he starts crying and enters Conner’s. This room is also unscathed. Little dust piles fill up the corners.

It’s rather bare, except for a few posters that Wally bought with him, all of famous, geeky movies that they watched together when Conner stayed at his house, and a Batman plushy that Robin gave him because apparently the smaller boy had about three hundred of them.

Black Canary also gave him something—a recipe for apple pie. She said that if he ever felt like making it, she would help him. They were supposed to have done it last Saturday, but since by last Saturday Conner was already gone…

There’s a picture of the team, taken specifically for Conner just so that he never forgot who his family is [was]. Megan is holding his hand, smiling serenely. Robin has taken his place on Wally’s shoulders and is giving the redhead bunny ears. Wally’s taking it all in stride, tugging on Kaldur’s arm to bring him further into the picture and grinning wildly. Zatanna has her arm locked with Artemis’ and a hand on Robin’s ankle, a small, gentle smile on her face to counter Robin’s wicked one. Artemis looks happy, and he rather likes her face crinkled like that, sunlight shining down and bringing out the golden tone of her skin. They are beautiful like this, frozen forever in one happy moment. He moves to take the picture but stops. He’ll just come in here if he ever wants to look at it.

Billy moves on to Kaldur’s room at the base, and, true to form, it is as neat and clean as always. The water tank needs some washing, so Billy presses the button to run the filter, as though Kaldur’s coming back, eventually. He wishes he was.

Their esteemed leader has the picture of the team as well (Billy remembers now that Megan kept hers under her pillow), hanging on a wall. There are a few folded pieces of his usual suit, as well as a formal suit for the prom that Megan and Conner invited him to. He was going to take Megan’s friend Wendy as a favor, and to get some Earthly experience.

Billy fingers the glittering, bejeweled fish that hang from the ceiling, a gag gift from Wally and Robin who spent hours making them sparkle so. Kaldur had not seen it as a _joke_ , though, when he came back from Atlantis and adored the fish that had been practically drilled into the ceiling from the efforts of the rest of the team. One of Artemis’ bows is stuck there, holding in place the prettiest of them all—a glimmering golden fish with turquoise jewels for eyes and reddish fins.

It’s a wonderland in here, the eerie light bouncing off of the jewels and smattering other colors across the walls, the water very still and greenish. Billy fingers the silkiness of the shirts Kaldur left behind. It smells like salt water.

He swallows and leaves, afraid that if he stays any longer he’ll start to cry because Kaldur was _so kind_ and calm and always knew how to make him feel better. They used to play water tag with Wolf together, whenever he had the time.

Billy walks a little farther down the hall, and enters Artemis’ room. He’s never been inside before, but he doesn’t hesitate. He needs this so much.

Her room is the darkest, painted the green of her costume, and messier. Some clothes are scattered across the floor, in various stages of wear and tear, a few faulty or broken bows are splintered on the ground, and a little bloody gauze is thrown over the otherwise unused desk. The gauze is from when she got a cut, a small thing really, on the mission before the _final_ mission. The one with Cheshire and… _Red Arrow_.

He doesn’t see her picture, but then remembers that they found her with a piece of paper crumpled between her fingers. They buried her with it.

There is, however, a picture of the woman he saw at the funeral, her mother. Billy remembers talking to her briefly, but he’s not really sure what she said. She was very… sad.

There are the action figures of the entire team, another gag gift from Robin and Wally. She’d said that she threw them out… but they’re there, resting on her bedside table. Billy smiles a little, and drags a finger over the one of Artemis.

Her extra bow, a bulkier black one, hangs precariously from the closet and all of the clothing she bought with Megan is in there, along with the Halloween costume she wore at the party. Artemis spent most of her nights with her mother at their home, but there is still some _life_ in here. Some pieces of the wonderful girl Billy knew.

He hugged her once, shortly after the awful mission stimulation. She accepted it, surprisingly, and he remembers how small and frail and _tired_ she felt in his arms. She was anything but when training, having all the ferocity and strength of a tigress. He missed that, that lovely intensity. She had loved the team like a family, even if she would never admit it.

Maybe she did, he thinks, maybe she admitted it with her last breath.

He exits, but not before setting her comm., which has been in his pocket for the last week, on the bed. It had been crushed in the fight, but it’s still hers, and he has planned on giving it back ever since he found it.

The next room is Zatanna’s. She’d been living here for only a short while, really, but the room is filled with her stuff because the rest of the team wanted her to feel at home.

He still remembers when Megan had Conner and Kaldur help her make a string of people holding hands, like she’d seen on TV, and then given them to Zatanna. Not before, of course, Robin and Wally had doused them in enough glitter to make a small country sparkle. Red Tornado had not been happy about having to clean that up.

He laughs at the thought, then puts a hand over his mouth. The laugh sounds very loud in this room, which is so quiet and _stark_ when there’s no pretty black haired sorceress lying on the bed.

There are shimmering, mysterious dark purple curtains hanging at the window, pulled open from when she woke up _that_ morning. All of her clothes are packed neatly in the closet, except for one top hat—a welcoming gift from Robin. It was made from fine silk and fit her head perfectly, better even, than the one she had before.

The picture of the team hangs above her bed, originally held there by magic, but later nailed in by Black Canary.

There is still magic in this room, Billy can feel. It thickens the air sorrowfully with nowhere else to go, a very lonely existence without a master, without someone to wield it.

He looks down, met with the rich purple of her carpet that is still stained with glitter and some paint from a very funny, very messy magical prank pulled on Wally. There are chemical burns on the opposite wall from when he’d gotten back at her.

Zatanna had been the member of the team he hadn’t known very well, but he’d felt deeply for her. And, after a few weeks of getting to know her, really liked her. He remembers now defending her position in the Justice League meeting when Dr. Fate’s admission had been questioned. He wishes he could’ve told her that he had her back, no matter what.

Billy chokes on his tears and backs out.

He runs down the hall to Robin’s room. Dick Grayson’s room.

Robin rarely slept here, but he kept little things—knickknacks from missions, gifts from his teammates that he couldn’t bring home (like the model of TARDIS that he, Wally, and Zatanna created on a whim), and a few other things. Like the Kid Flash Halloween costume and the stolen technology from Lex Corps that not even Batman is supposed to know about.

There are Doctor Who sheets tucked neatly into the bed, he hadn’t slept in there much but the sheets were a must. Both Wally and Artemis insisted upon it.

On the opposite wall hangs a giant poster of Hal Jordan, the matching one to Wally’s John Stewart, and another of the Dark Knight. Probably made him feel safe, when he did sleep here.

There are several gag gifts from Wally scattered around, as well, like the Speedy costume that the speedster and Kaldur hand-sewed when they couldn’t get their hands on a real one because _Red Arrow_ had burned them all. There’s also a gift from Billy himself—a pair of fake Ray-bans with little bat-symbols on the side.

This time, he sits on the bed and breathes in. The air is musky from being so still for so long and Billy reminds himself to circulate the air conditioning through this half of the base. They haven’t been, but… it’s hard to let go.

He spies, in the shadows of the closet, a pair of Superboy’s boots. They are, quite obviously, the ones that had been missing for a few days. A prank, then. Billy smiles. He’s really going to miss their pranks.

He gets up and leaves, biting his lip when his eyes sting at the thought of Wally and _Dick’s_ pranks. The last room is Kid Flash’s.

Wally didn’t sleep here often, but the bed is unmade. The sheets are, of course, Harry Potter themed. Upon discovering Wally’s aversion to magic, Dick and Artemis quickly shunned the ‘boring’ Flash sheets and stapled these ones to the bed. Wally never got rid of them.

There are also souvenirs. Most of them are ones from before, when Robin, Kid Flash, Speedy, and sometimes Aqualad went on missions or when there was a _really cool_ Flash mission, or whenever John Stewart, _“The best Green Lantern ever! Sorry, Uncle Hal,”_ had visited and invited Wally to patrol with him. There’s even the hat of the Canadian border patrol officer that Wally saved while working with Mr. John Stewart. Lamest souvenir ever, he’d said fondly.

Clothes are dropped on the floor, many turtlenecks and sweaters (he’d been oddly fond of them), even the hideous Batman and Robin Christmas sweater that Wally’d found in Germany somewhere and bought just to troll Robin. He’d worn it for _days_ , even over his costume when they went to Antarctica. Batman had gotten this little _tick_ on his forehead every time he saw it.

Wally’s picture was at Barry and Iris’ house, safe and probably just as untouched as the others’.

The rest of the room was encased in what appeared to be a makeshift chemistry/biology lab, complete with diagrams of the human body systems and a periodic table. Most of the chemicals had been put away, luckily, but there was a vial on the main table that was labeled LUTHOR. Billy grinned a little sadly. Obviously Robin and Wally had been planning something for their _friend_.

He remembers Wally, of course, and all the shenanigans the young speedster got into. When he found out Billy was only ten, he apologized for bossing him around and took him to Keystone city for ice cream.

It made Billy so happy, and now he’d never get to feel that happiness again.

/

It’s later, when Billy has left their rooms alone (cold, empty, desolate), that he hears them.

There is laughter echoing through the halls, Wally’s loud, endearingly obnoxious one and Robin’s creepy yet cute one. There’s a huff of breath, very obviously Artemis’ often heard sigh of exasperation and he can _feel_ her signature eye roll. She’s smirking, too, amused.

Megan’s giggle and the scent of lightly burnt cookies (he’ll never be able to eat regular cookies again) drifts down through the hallways along with Conner’s vaguely irritated or, perhaps, amused grunt. Kaldur lets out a breath of sweet, salty air and the reverberation of patient words rushes through the base. Zatanna chuckles too, high and sweet, and the tender stream of her fingers running through the air as she _poofs_ away the mess of the prank hits his ears.

It’s _marvel_ ous here right now. It’s not the bloodstained walls

_Artemis, crumpled in the corner, slick red liquid dripping from her lips, staining the carpet, smeared against the wall, fingers curled around a [red] arrow thrust in her chest, blonde hair soaked crimson_

of the time before. There is no crumbling, charcoal flesh, green leeched out into white skin and pink bone

_Megan, twisted on the kitchen floor, body distorted beyond belief, in her White Martian form, she’s still beautiful, so beautiful and sweet, a halo of ash encircles the floor around where her head, her face, should be_

resting grotesquely in a sacred place. The stench of Kaldur’s blood, ocean black, splattered over the walls of the hallway. _He_ obviously hadn’t known much about Atlantean physiology, because killing Kaldur had taken a very long time. He’d had to impale him on the weapon about 37 times before Kaldur actually died. By that time, the message was out. Zatanna was next.

_Kaldur, lying there so still, eyes a little open, blinking gently, until he sees Billy, the breath leaving him, body slick with blood, hands limp and bruised, still calm in death, still regal, still bold_

There is no hard, strong _boy_ , blood streaming from his head with a little green rock jammed somewhere in the cerebral cortex.

_Conner, Kryptonite through the brain, sick, green tint to his skin, blood pooling around his head from his ears, horrible, confused look on his face, never got to hear his father, his Superman say anything in return_

There is no bruised neck, rough, wide fingerprints wrapped around white skin, no coiled little thirteen year old body dripping magic against the wall.

_Zatanna, strangled so she cannot say a word through damaged vocal chords, a shattered collar bone brings her to her knees; her eyes are lifeless, staring at him, begging, desperate, gorgeous shards of glazed blue_

 The tiny form of a little bird, taken out in flight, his spine curved so inwards it crushed his rib cage is not there anymore.

_Robin, so smart, so brave, so young, flattened into two pieces with a mass of insides in between, he contacted Batman, who couldn’t get there in time, his mask was off, ripped off, Billy saw Dick Grayson’s face_

Wally’s splintered legs, because _he_ knew not to let a speedster get away, all the way up to his green gaze, dull in death as it never had been once in life, where his neck was snapped, resting gracelessly on his shoulder.

_Wally, who took him out for ice cream, who had so much energy, so much life, stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped speaking, stopped laughing because the joke isn’t funny anymore, this isn’t funny guys, please_

He just wants them to wake up, to crawl out of their graves with bloody fingers, to hug and laugh and play and _fight_. But he knows they never will.

They’re gone.

 


End file.
